A Malfoy Family Festivus
by Chibikat the Canuck
Summary: After a mishap in Diagon Alley involving a Remembrall and an irate man smelling of onions, Lucius decides that his family won't celebrate Christmas. Instead, they'll celebrate Festivus. A Festivus...For the Rest Of Us.


Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine. The holiday isn't even mine. I own nothing. Doesn't that make you want to give me money? Of course it does.  
  
Rating: PG, if only due to some occasional swearing.  
  
Author's Notes: If I didn't need help before, then I seriously need help now. This is the result of watching too much Seinfeld, feeling too Christmasy, and looking at a bunch of holiday fics. I figured that, if Christmas could be done...why not Festivus?  
  
This was also brought on by an article in the Canadian newspaper "The Globe & Mail". Blame Andrew Ryan. Him and his *television* article.  
  
So, yes. This *is* based on the holiday that George Costanza's father, Frank, invents in the TV show "Seinfeld". The sad thing is, I think it works terribly well for the Malfoy family, and this plot idea wouldn't leave me alone. Seriously. I stayed up until twenty to four writing this so I could have it done in time for Christmas Eve. I'm sad.  
  
Anyway, I hope you like this. XD;  
  
~*~  
  
A Malfoy Family Festivus  
  
~*~  
  
Lucius Malfoy was a man of many talents.  
  
For starters, he was quite the accomplished wizard - many of his spells were mastered to the point of perfection, his Patronus was a rather large cobra, he was one of the best duelers in the entire Ministry of Magic, and a hair was never out of place when he was casting his magic, as it were. He was an expert businessman and negotiator, which had come quite in handy for when he began his "recruitment drive" of Death Eaters for everybody's favourite Dark Lord (no, not Sauron).  
  
Anyway, it goes without saying that Lucius was proud of himself - as a father, as a Death Eater, and as an all around man. However, during this particular moment, he was experiencing one of the lowest points in his entire forty-two years of living; more annoying than every single American Muggle known to mankind put together in one room, more rage-inducing than James Potter shouting insults from his Quidditch broom during his days at Hogwarts, more utterly tiring than a full day's paperwork at the Ministry...  
  
Yes. He was Christmas shopping.  
  
Now, every year preceding this one, Lucius had sent his house elves out to do all the family Christmas shopping - he was a busy man, and had not the time for such frivolous activities as the purchasing of worldly goods for his wife and only boy child. Happenstance, though, decreed that things would be quite different this year; for, just one piddling day ago, Lucius had had the thorough misfortune of having to deal with a legion of people enrolled in M.A.W.U. (Muggles And Wizards Unite), who decided that it would be a good idea to picket outside of the Ministry offices. After hours of having to listen to idiots screech "What do we want? Muggle incorporation into society! When do we want it? Now!" over and over again, it could easily be said that Lucius felt about ready to kill something. Slowly. And painfully.  
  
When he got home, the first to greet him were, of course, the resident House Elves, ready to take his winter robe, his boots, and anything he had to hand off for storage until a later point in time. One of the elves decided to go on about what to make for dinner (neither he nor Narcissa would ever touch a skillet unless they absolutely had to), which had pushed Lucius' delicate sensibilities right over the Cliff of Wrath. Flying off the proverbial handle, Lucius proceeded to give the poor House Elves the tongue lashing of a lifetime, yelling curses and phrases that he rarely, rarely ever uttered. This shouting escalated to such heights that some of the nearby household items shook in their place.  
  
The elves scattered away, and so frightened were they that Lucius hadn't seen them since. Of course, this meant that Lucius had to finish most all of the Christmas shopping by himself. Hoisted by his own petard, as it were.  
  
He felt rather small amidst all the shoppers that had congregated in Diagon Alley. He crinkled his nose in disgust - the stench of commoners never changed. They scurried to and fro, buying and shouting and pushing and grabbing and generally being very ill tempered. The shop owners were harassed and harangued by the customers as money was thrown at them from every which way; people fought over the last of this or that in all the different stores, others were shouting for help, and there was an entire line of crying children awaiting their turn to see the employee dressed up as Santa Claus. It was chaos, totally and completely.  
  
Lucius looked around in disgust once more, before entering a random shop. He looked at everything dotting the shelves, feeling a smidgen helpless. How the hell was he supposed to know what his family wanted for Christmas? As casually as he could, the blond walked up to the various shelves, looking at what was on display; he picked up a wooden figure of some sort of troll-like creature, which carried an axe and a more than mean spirited frown. Narcissa would like it. Probably. Maybe.  
  
He wandered over to another row of shelves, where several trinkets sat. One of them just happened to be a glass sphere - a Remembrall - and Lucius eyed it for a moment. Draco could always use something to remind him to do much better in school...after all, no son of his was ever going to graduate with marks lower than that of a Mudblood.  
  
Lucius reached for the Remembrall. Consequentially, so did another man, who grabbed at it at the same time Lucius did. Shocked and appalled by this commoner's behaviour, Lucius applied his most severe scowl, and glared at the pudgy, unmannerly man beside him.  
  
"Excuse me, but just *what* do you think you are doing?" Lucius asked, venom positively dripping from his words. The short, yet built man seemed unfazed.  
  
"I'm getting the last Remembrall, what does it look like?" Lucius narrowed his eyes at the man who smelled faintly of onions.  
  
"It looks to me as if I were here first." The Malfoy patriarch said this in such a way that it left absolutely no room for questioning.  
  
"It looks to *me* like you're wrong! Now, if you'll just get out of my way, Blondie, I'll take this Remembrall and go!"  
  
...oh, he did *not* just call him Blondie. Lucius' lip curled.  
  
"What did you just call me?"  
  
"You heard me - Blondie!" Lucius looked positively pissed. The squat man seemed not to care. "Ooh, what are you gonna do, slap me with your leather glove?"  
  
"Shut yourself up, before I crush you with my wallet," Lucius said dangerously. It was at this point that Lucius remembered how much he utterly loathed Christmas. The man snorted.  
  
"You couldn't crush a House Elf if you tried, you pansy. Now, if you don't want to get hurt, I'd suggest you let *me* take the Remembrall, and you can go on your own little way, alright Blondie?"  
  
Blondie *and* pansy. This man was dead.  
  
The rage of Malfoy was slightly subsided by the shopkeeper, who had decided, at this juncture in time, to intervene. He began speaking with the man before him, and in all his anger, Lucius could feel a very old memory resurface. He could barely recall it, but it was still there - these words he had heard spoken, decades ago, on this same day. It was so long ago...but with a start, he knew exactly what had happened.  
  
Lucius blinked. And suddenly, everything became clear.  
  
"...don't want any trouble in this store, you hear me?" the clerk finished, looking as stern as an elderly man wearing an apron could. Lucius shook his head.  
  
"Take the damn Remembrall. I've changed my mind," he said haughtily. The man who smelled of onions snorted in victory. Curling his fingers into a fist, Lucius began to walk to the exit; however, just before he stepped foot outside...  
  
"By the way..." Lucius said dryly. The stout man turned around, still smirking with his small win of the Remembrall. Quickly, Lucius pulled off his leather glove, slapped the man something fierce, and walked with purpose out of the shop.  
  
It was only until halfway back to his house that he realized he still had the terrible little figurine with him, and that he hadn't paid for it.  
  
He smirked in victory.  
  
~*~  
  
Draco Malfoy couldn't remember being more glad to get away from the complete insanity that was Hogwarts to return to the complete (albeit different) insanity of his household. This Sixth Year of his was proving to be the hardest year he'd had yet; Care of Magical Creatures was still mind numbingly boring, Transfiguration was increasing in its difficulty, and History of Magic was nothing short of a hideous, monotonous nightmare. The only saving grace so far was Potions, because no one could insult anybody like Professor Snape. No one. And it was damnably entertaining.  
  
The Christmas cheer of Hogwarts had felt so repressive and choking to him; true, Draco didn't exactly *hate* Christmas, but all the fruitcake, the trees, the decking the halls and fa-la-la-ing were making him absolutely sick. Couldn't those stupid Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors keep their damn cheer to their damn selves? Damn it all and their damnable damningness.  
  
"I'm home," Draco called out to no one in particular, listening to his voice echo throughout the expansive foyer of Malfoy Manor. He set down his trunk. He found it exceptionally odd that House Elves hadn't rushed to the doorway to take his things; but, he figured there must be a reason for it.  
  
He unraveled the green and silver scarf from his neck, moving his hands down to undo his winter robes. Draco kicked off his shoes, watching them bounce and land heavily on the wooded floors of the entryway; as he walked forward, he dropped his scarf, his outer robe, and his gloves on the ground, secure in the knowledge that they would be picked up for him later.  
  
"Mother, Father, I said I'm home!" he yelled again, beginning to get rather annoyed. Usually Narcissa was at least somewhere near the stairs, or she sent the House Elves to greet him. Again with the suspicious lack of enslaved help...  
  
"Where are they?" Draco asked himself quietly, looking around. The stairs that coiled upwards (or downwards, depending on how you looked at it) were currently devoid of any form of life, the adjacent hallways were equally empty, and there weren't any sounds to give away the fact that people lived in the expansive house. The boy furrowed his eyebrows.  
  
Odd, that no one would be around.  
  
Shrugging his shoulders, Draco half-jogged up the curving staircase, his socked feet padding against the polished, wooden stairs. Winding his way through a few different hallways, he finally made it to his room, where he changed out of his school uniform in favour of something much, much, more fashionable. Grey vests and black robes were all very well and good for the average school student, but silk shirts and designer pants were simply...delectable. Especially on him, in Draco's own, esteemed opinion.  
  
Quickly checking his hair in his large mirror (nothing out of place, as per usual), Draco strolled out of his room, hands in his pockets. Curiously looking down the hall, he tread down it, thinking nothing of the disappearing act his parents had seemed intent on doing this particular time. While certainly it was rather strange, it wasn't as if Draco hated silence and being alone for once.  
  
Once he admitted this to himself, Draco heard a noise from down the stairs. Ah, so they were on the first floor the entire time. Making his way leisurely down the winding staircase, Draco padded through the parlor and the sitting room, hearing the distinct voices of his parents becoming that much more distinct. Finally arriving in the living room, Draco stopped in the entryway, and stared.  
  
His father, with the help of his mother, was putting up an eight-foot aluminum pole.  
  
"To the left, Narcissa, it will surely topple over if it stays like this."  
  
"This is hell on my nails."  
  
"You're hell on my ear drums."  
  
"Touché, and the feeling is reciprocated. This way, Lucius?"  
  
"Looks about right, dear."  
  
Draco raised both his eyebrows. He'd never seen his parents get along so well.  
  
"Mother? Father?" he questioned, still standing in the threshold with his hands in his pockets. Lucius looked over at his son, one hand still clasped around the metal pole.  
  
"Ah, finally. Hello, Draco," he said with all due warmth, turning his attention back to the pole. "What took you so long?"  
  
"I called out for you and Mother twice. I didn't hear anything, so I went upstairs and got changed. Why are you putting up a metal pole in the middle of the living room?"  
  
"Because it's Festivus, Draco," Lucius responded helpfully. Draco blinked.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Because apparently it's Festivus, honey," Narcissa echoed, stepping back from the pole along with her husband. Casually, she inspected her immaculately manicured fingernails. Draco stared at the completely bare, aluminum pole, which towered over the three of them.  
  
"Well. I'm sure that explains something," Draco said, stepping into the room, tilting his head as he stared at the pole. "Though I can't say I know what, exactly. Would it be too much to ask for a method to your collective madnesses?"  
  
"Madnesses isn't a word, Draco, and if you'd be quiet for once, I could explain for you," Lucius replied, crossing his arms as he looked up at the pole he and his wife had managed to keep upright.  
  
There were a few beats of silence. Draco scratched his head, unable to look away from the aluminum pole.  
  
"And that explanation would be coming sometime soon?" the boy asked. Narcissa sighed deeply.  
  
"We're not celebrating Christmas this year," she said monotonously. "We're celebrating Festivus. I'm getting a drink, excuse me." With that, she walked out of the room, and into the parlor, where Lucius had a drinking nook installed. She fetched a bottle of brandy, an appropriate glass, and returned to the living room, setting her effects down on the coffee table.  
  
Draco had, through his shock, finally digested the words his mother had said.  
  
"Did I hear you correctly? We're not celebrating *Christmas*?"  
  
"That," Narcissa replied, pouring herself a liberal amount of alcohol into her swirl glass, "is exactly what I said." She took a very long drink.  
  
"But...but why?!" Draco paused in thought, and blinked. "Wait, we're not Jewish, are we?"  
  
"No, Draco, we're not Jewish. They celebrate Hanukkah, and most certainly not Festivus. Do try and get your winter holidays correct," Lucius drawled, circling around the aluminum pole, making sure everything was up to par. Draco shook his head, and walked up to his father.  
  
"You can't just decide to not celebrate Christmas, Father! That's completely daft!" Lucius looked down angrily at his son; however, instead of berating Draco or doing something equally loud to showcase his annoyance and anger, Lucius simply took in a deep breath.  
  
"Just wait until The Airing of Grievances," he muttered to himself, smoothing out his shirt. Draco looked at Lucius quite oddly.  
  
"The what? Father, this is ridiculous, I demand that you tell me what's going on right now!" Draco yelled, unable to keep the slightly childish whine out of his voice. The eldest Malfoy looked down at his son, arching an eyebrow.  
  
"Lucius, just tell him about this holiday of yours," Narcissa said from her place, leaning against the end table as she took another drink of brandy. "I could use another explanation myself." Lucius sighed.  
  
"Fine, Narcissa. Fine. Draco, sit down for God's sake." Giving one last look to Lucius that seemed to say 'You've finally gone off your rocker, haven't you?', Draco took a seat in one of the large, plush chairs stationed around the stone fireplace.  
  
"Due to an...incident...the house elves were unable to do the annual Christmas shopping for us. I, in my good graces, had of course decided that someone needed to pick up the slack, or else there would certainly be no presents for anyone. And God forbid I could ever count on your mother for anything like that," Lucius began, casting a sideways glance to Narcissa. She sneered, and took another drink.  
  
"As I was forced to mingle with the, shall we say, *lesser* beings of the world in order to purchase these gifts, an extremely common man and I somehow found ourselves having something of a row. It was at this point that I remembered something from long ago." Draco couldn't help but imagine his father trying to fight some peasant, and barely contained a snicker. Lucius continued on.  
  
"About twenty years ago, long before I met Narcissa and promptly became miserable - "  
  
"You're welcome, Lucius," Narcissa cut in. Lucius smirked, and talked on.  
  
" - I had decided to travel the world. It's an absolutely ghastly place, Draco, I really don't recommend it, except possibly for Switzerland. But I digress. I had found myself, unfortunately, in New York City, during the holiday season, and it was utter madness. As I made my way through the city, I managed to overhear a local man speaking of his adventures in a nearby toy shop, after trying to purchase a doll for his son."  
  
Draco furrowed his eyebrows.  
  
"A doll for his son?"  
  
"It was America after all, Draco."  
  
"Mm."  
  
"This man, as it turns out, had had an epiphany, of sorts. He was explaining to his fellow man about his attempt to buy this doll - and I remember his exact words - 'As I rained blows upon him, I realized there had to be another way!' The doll, as it turns out, was destroyed, but out of that, a new holiday was born."  
  
Lucius paused dramatically.  
  
"A Festivus...for the rest of us!"  
  
Draco heard Narcissa quietly choke with laughter on her drink, but other than that, the room was silent. The boy stared incredulously at his father.  
  
"So, let me get this straight. Because you were forced to go shopping, you've entirely abandoned the idea of Christmas, for this...Festivus...spawned by an American you met twenty years ago?"  
  
"You make it sound much more base than it is; but, as far as basic gists go, that aptly sums it up."  
  
Draco suddenly found himself wishing he were back at Hogwarts, bombarded by holiday cheer. It was annoying, yes, but at least he could understand it.  
  
"And the metal pole in the middle of the living room?" Draco asked, already knowing he wasn't going to like any of the other answers he was going to receive that night.  
  
"The Festivus Pole, Draco, show some respect."  
  
"It's just a pole."  
  
"*Festivus* Pole." The youngest Malfoy bravely fought down the urge to roll his eyes.  
  
"Fine, Festivus Pole. Do we decorate it now, or something along those lines?"  
  
"No," Lucius said quickly. "No decorations, no tinsel. It's far too distracting."  
  
Draco let his eyes wander from his father, to the Festivus Pole, and back again. Narcissa had nearly finished the entire bottle of brandy - though, to be fair, the bottle was already half empty to begin with. Or half full.  
  
"Let me guess. No presents?" Draco asked.  
  
"Absolutely not - no presents, no carols, no bloody tree. Just the Festivus Pole."  
  
The boy vainly wished for new parents.  
  
"So what now? Do we just stare at it like idiots?" Lucius sighed deeply, clenching and unclenching his fists.  
  
"You're not appreciating this for what it is, Draco. You're still rooted in Christmas - we celebrate Festivus now, not that archaic, religious holiday! Stop thinking about Christmas!" he demanded. Draco was depressed to find himself not at all shocked by Lucius' behaviour. Just slightly disturbed, as always.  
  
"Yes, sir," he muttered, letting his self control run wild and free as he rolled his eyes.  
  
"Now it is time for The Airing of Grievances," Lucius said almost reverently. "Come, to the dinner table!"  
  
Reluctantly, Draco followed his father into the dining room; there was a suspiciously small amount of food on the table, and it mainly consisted of what looked to be Chinese take-out. This reminded Draco of his earlier question.  
  
"Father, where are the House Elves?"  
  
"They've run off somewhere into the bowels of this house. Once I find them, I *swear* I am setting them free," Lucius said angrily. He took his seat at the head of the table. Narcissa sat down as well, having brought her precious alcohol along with her.  
  
Lucius helped himself to some moo goo guy pan before beginning to speak.  
  
"So begins The Airing of Grievances. This is the most practical of all Festivus rituals," he began ceremoniously. Draco stared at the dim sum in front of him, and decided to pass on it.  
  
"This is where we gather family around, and tell them all the ways they have disappointed us over the past year." Lucius experimentally ate a snow pea from his moo goo guy pan. It wasn't terrible. Draco raised his eyebrows.  
  
"We what?" Draco asked, a sense of foreboding settling heavily in his stomach.  
  
"I'll start, then," Lucius said, promptly volunteering himself. "Draco, you're a terrible son. You're one of the worst Seekers that Hogwarts has ever seen - has there actually been a time this year that you've beaten that Potter boy to the Snitch?" Draco blinked in shock. "That's right, I thought not. Your marks are absolutely terrible this year; I swear, the only thing keeping you at the top of the class in Potions is Snape, and I'm sure even *he* is getting tired of favouring the likes of you. You're a disappointment, Draco, and with each year, I fear that your chances to redeem yourself are getting smaller and smaller."  
  
Draco stared, open mouthed, at his father.  
  
"As for you, Narcissa," Lucius started, taking a bite of some pork, "You're more frigid than the ice you put in your drinks. You never make time for me, despite the fact that all you do is make yourself over - which, by the way, is not helping you at all. You're always either drunk or getting there, and you're worse than a corpse in the sack."  
  
By this time, Narcissa had finished off everything that was in the brandy glass, and the brandy bottle. Draco was scarred for life, but nobody seemed to notice. Narcissa arched her eyebrow indignantly.  
  
"And *you* are one to talk? I can't 'make time' for you, because you make far more than enough time for yourself. You're always either working at the Ministry, or doing all of You-Know-Who's dirty work for him. I'm sorry to say it, but all you are is his lapdog - and that's certainly no way to garner respect, now is it? Not to mention that your head is up your arse when...well...other *people* aren't." Smirking in triumph, Narcissa began to eat an egg roll. She looked over at Draco, who had gone utterly pale.  
  
"Don't look so shocked, dear, you obviously inherited your flamboyant tendencies from *somewhere*. As for you, though, do something about your hair. Please. You look like a desperate stalker with it all slicked back as such. Your turn now, Draco - my, this *is* fun."  
  
Draco swallowed dryly, and took in a breath.  
  
"I...I think you're both horrible parents! You rarely ever care about anything that I do, and never do you stop to consider my feelings on anything! Mother, you're too absorbed in yourself or a bottle of wine to care, and Father...quite frankly, you just scare me." He took another calming breath, but it didn't do much to help him. "It's no wonder that I seem to disappoint you, Mother and Father, because I've never known anything *but* disappointment from the two of you!"  
  
The room was completely silent. Breathing a bit heavily, Draco stared down at his empty plate; if only to distract himself, he shoveled a generous helping of chicken fried rice onto his plate.  
  
"Well, then," was all that Lucius said before eating more of his moo goo guy pan.  
  
Again, there was silence, and everything felt incredibly tense.  
  
"Now that our grievances have been sufficiently...aired..." Lucius started, wiping his mouth regally with a napkin, "it is time to move on to the last part of Festivus."  
  
"Sucks to Festivus," Draco said almost inaudibly.  
  
"This is called The Feats of Strength." Lucius pushed back the chair, and stood at the front of the table. "Draco, stand up."  
  
"Why?" the boy asked dully.  
  
"You will stand and perform The Feats of Strength, or else Festivus won't end," Lucius replied. It was a good enough reason. Draco pushed back his chair and stood as well, but looked none too happy about it.  
  
"In order for Festivus to officially come to an end, the father and the eldest son of the family must both perform The Feats of Strength." Automatically, Draco had a bad feeling about this, and most decidedly did not at all like where it was going.  
  
Draco swallowed dryly.  
  
"What are The Feats of Strength?" he questioned, knowing that his father would probably not offer up an explanation unless prompted to do so. Lucius began to unbutton his robe, and Draco couldn't help but step back a smidge, already feeling rightly disturbed.  
  
"Somebody has to be pinned," he said simply. Draco blinked.  
  
"Pinned?" he squeaked out. Lucius threw his outer robe to some corner of the dining room, leaving him in slacks and a rather non-descript white shirt.  
  
"Pinned." He stepped away from the table, and promptly launched himself at Draco. With a cry of surprise, Draco was knocked to the ground; a chair was taken with them, and it clattered against the wood something fierce.  
  
"Jesus, what the bloody hell are you doing?!" Draco yelled, pushing Lucius off of him. The father seemed to pay no heed to this.  
  
"No swearing during The Feats of Strength!" Lucius stated loudly, once again diving for his son, who rolled out of the way this time. Another chair fell victim to The Feats of Strength, and it ended up being knocked across the room.  
  
"This is insanity!" Draco cried out as he evaded yet another attack from his father.  
  
"You can't run away like this, Draco, now try and pin me damnit!"  
  
"I thought you said no swearing during The Feats of Strength!" Yet another dodge, yet another attack attempt from Lucius.  
  
"It's different for me!" he yelled back. The fight had by now been carried into the living room. Ironically enough, Lucius ended up circling Draco around the Festivus Pole.  
  
"Father, stop it, you're acting like an idiot!"  
  
"Stop using words and fight me like a man!"  
  
"Watch out you prat, you nearly rammed me into the fireplace!"  
  
The Feats of Strength went on like that for a little while; Narcissa, still out of brandy, walked calmly over to the liquor cabinet once more, and pulled out some choice wines. She nestled herself comfortably on one of the chairs, and acted as a spectator to the proceedings that surrounded her.  
  
She poured herself a drink, and sipped at it, watching disinterestedly.  
  
Finally, after a good few more minutes, Lucius had managed to pin Draco, who was still protesting loudly to the whole thing. Once Lucius had proclaimed Festivus to officially be over and retired to his chambers, Draco had skulked up to his own room.  
  
"I hate my parents," he lamented to the ceiling, laying on his bed. "I hate my parents, and I *hate* Festivus!"  
  
He sighed deeply.  
  
"I wish I was Jewish."  
  
~*~  
  
"So, what did you get for Christmas, Blaise?"  
  
"The new Firebolt T-X. Top of the line, it is. How about you, Pansy?"  
  
"An entire day's worth of treatment at the London Wizard Day Spa; pedicures, manicures, facials, the works. Not to mention robes from the new Remy Chardin collection - absolutely stunning, if I do say so myself. What about you, Draco?"  
  
Draco grumbled incoherently, and then proceeded to stomp up the stairs to the Slytherin dormitories. Everyone in the common room watched him go.  
  
"What was that all about?" Blaise asked, furrowing his eyebrows.  
  
"Who knows?" Pansy answered, sighing a little bit. "Maybe he just didn't get everything he wanted?"  
  
"Can't be it."  
  
"Then, what?"  
  
From that day on, all the Slytherins wondered why, exactly, Draco became extremely upset when they mentioned the Christmas holidays to him thereon in.  
  
They also couldn't help but wonder what these "Feats of Strength" were that he always muttered about.  
  
~*~  
  
There it is. I've finally cracked and written a Festivus fic. And now it's Christmas Eve. Wow.  
  
Anyway, please do leave reviews. I love them, and I'd really appreciate them and all that jazz. =D Thanks a lot for reading, and:  
  
-Merry Christmas  
  
-Happy Hanukkah  
  
-Kwazy Kwanza  
  
-Solemn and Reflective Ramadan  
  
-And of course, Happy Festivus for the Rest Of Us.  
  
...I think that covers them all. ^_~  
  
~Chibikat 


End file.
